


sons are for fathers the twice-told tale

by afteriwake



Series: Family Ties [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For most of his life Sherlock has had one unsolvable mystery: who is his father? It isn't until after he has returned from faking his death that the extraordinary truth comes out: his father is the Doctor, the time traveling alien with the habit of picking up strays. What does this mean for the two of them when a dying woman's need for her son to know the truth brings them together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FishEyenoMiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/gifts).



> This is another entry for the sherlockmas Afterglow Fest, answering the prompt "Sherlock is the son of the Tenth Doctor and Mrs. Holmes, who was widowed when Mycroft was young (I picture them having a brief affair while Mrs. Holmes was mourning her husband and Ten was dealing with the fall-out of what he did to Donna). Eleven, along with Amy and Rory, comes to visit Sherlock. Sherlock and John as a couple is a plus, but not necessary (though I want John in the story). Whether you have Mycroft and/or Mrs. Holmes make an appearance is up to you." The title is a quote by Victoria Secunda in the book "Women and Their Fathers."

Sherlock had known since he was old enough to know of the concept of half-siblings that Mycroft was not his brother, not completely. They were half-brothers, which explained the reason they looked different. No one had ever had to tell him, he just knew. His mother would never talk about his father, and after a few months of pestering he gave up. That was the beginning of his decision to be a detective at the tender age of eight, wanting to find out about his father.

It was one of the few mysteries he had never been able to solve.

Mycroft had no memories of that time that could help him, instead lost in his own sea of pain and grief at his father’s death. He had been young, had been little more than ten, but the death of his father had changed him. He’d developed the stiff upper lip that so defined him now, feeling he needed to be strong for his mother. When his mother announced her pregnancy just scant months later he didn’t think to question it.

As Sherlock got older the question nagged at him. In his darkest times, the times he spent in a haze of drugs and alcohol, he would allow himself to get angry. Angry at his mother for not giving him answers, angry at the man he didn’t know who was his father for not sticking around, for not caring. The anger would fuel his drug-addled rantings and ravings, and then when he was spent he would get alcohol to numb the pain that was left over.

When he was forced to go to rehab he was made to get into therapy. He hated therapy, and he avoided the major issue in his life, telling the therapist what he thought she wanted to hear. He was still angry, but he didn’t need a complete stranger knowing all the details, getting him to “work through it.” He wanted to _stay_ angry, thrive off the anger. But slowly it started to fade. This driving force became less driving once his brother introduced him to Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, and the mystery of who his father was became less interesting than the cases he was being asked to solve.

It stayed this way for years. It even stayed this way when John entered his life, and then he was gone, faking his death, and the driving need to make sure Moriarty’s network could never pose a threat to him or his friends and family ever again was what drove him instead of complicated cases. There were still bits and fragments of the organization around, but Mycroft had told him their mother was dying, and that was reason enough to leave the rest to the local governments to handle. And now he was home, picking up the pieces of his life and trying to make amends with those he had hurt by lying to them. 

Today was a good day. Today was a day when John was talking to him, when Mrs. Hudson wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder. Today was a day with a case, a reason to get out of bed in the morning. A couple had disappeared without a trace, Rory and Amelia Williams. Someone had broken into their home, and it was a presumed kidnapping and possible homicide. Lestrade was completely stumped, and so he had called in Sherlock to consult. He’d just finished examining the supposed crime scene with John and now they were on their way back home.

“Something doesn’t seem quite right,” Sherlock murmured as they sat in the cab that headed back to 221 Baker St. “The Williams have disappeared for long stretches of time before without anyone raising the alarm. Why now? And why would someone break in? It didn’t seem as though they were abducted from their home.”

“Maybe they’re involved in something shady,” John said with a slight shrug. “Drugs or something like that.”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock said with a nod. “I believe this will be a tough case to solve, but not impossible.” He turned to John. “Thank you for accompanying me today.”

John blinked slightly. Sherlock knew he had made some personality changes, and John was still adjusting to them; thanking his friend for the things he did was one of them and while it was still hard to do, and apparently strange for John to hear, it had helped mend the breach made by Sherlock’s disappearance and reappearance weeks earlier. Sherlock was thankful for it.

They continued the rest of the way, engaging in small talk, and Sherlock almost missed it. But he caught it as the cab turned the corner onto their street. “John, look.” He pointed to the blue police box sitting on the corner. It was old fashioned and didn’t belong there. 

“What the bloody hell is that?” John asked, turning around to look as the cab went by. When the cab stopped they both got out and went over to it. Sherlock tried to open it but found it was locked. “This is peculiar.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod. He looked at it one last time before whipping out his cell phone.

“Wait! Stop!” A man came running over towards them, followed by a young couple who looked very familiar.

“That couple,” John murmured. “That’s Rory and Amy Williams.”

“I believe you’re right,” Sherlock said with a nod, lowering his phone as the three of them caught up to them. “Who are you?” he asked as the man leaned over, his hands on his thighs, panting slightly.

“I’m the Doctor,” he said.

“Did you kidnap this couple?” Sherlock asked.

“Kidnap? No, never. They’re my friends.” He stood up and looked at Rory. “Right?”

“Right,” Rory said, and Amelia nodded. “Why do you think we were kidnapped?”

“Someone broke into your home. Scotland Yard is looking into it as a kidnapping and presumed homicide,” Sherlock said.

“See, I _knew_ something like this would happen someday,” Amelia said with a sigh.

“Well, as you can see they’re perfectly safe,” the Doctor said. “Perhaps we should go to Scotland Yard and clear this up, yes?”

“That would be a good idea,” John said with a nod.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Sherlock asked the three strangers, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“The Doctor said he needed to see you,” Amelia said with a shrug. “We didn’t ask why.”

“Perhaps we can talk in private?” the Doctor said to Sherlock.

“Anything you need to say you can say in front of John,” Sherlock said, crossing his arms.

“Very well,” the Doctor said quietly. “I received a call a few days ago from a woman I knew years ago. Well, longer for me than for her. She told me she was dying, and she wanted to set things right with her youngest son. She had been keeping a secret from him, and she wanted him to know the truth.”

“My mother?” Sherlock asked.

The other man nodded. “Over thirty years ago for her I met her. I looked different then. Very different. She was heartbroken over the loss of her husband. I had just done something to a good friend that was…well, it was quite horrible. We had…” He stopped and blushed slightly.

“You had a fling,” John said.

“Yes. She became pregnant, but by the time she found out I was already gone, back to traveling.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. Surely this man, who looked younger than him…surely this man was not implying what he thought he was implying? “There is no possible way _you_ are my father,” he said quietly, an edge to his voice.

“You left out the part where you’re an alien who travels through time and space,” Amelia said.

“Amy,” her husband said.

“But if he knew that first it would make more sense,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, if he believed it.”

“Which I don’t,” Sherlock said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to call Lestrade and tell him the Williams family is safe and sound. Mad as hatters, but safe.” He pulled the phone up and pressed a button.

“Will you trust me for a moment?” the Doctor asked.

“I have no reason to,” Sherlock said, putting the phone to his ear.

The Doctor snapped his fingers and the police box doors opened. “Look inside there,” he said, pointing to the open doors.

Sherlock looked at the three strangers, then John, who shrugged. Finally he went over to the doors and looked inside, and what he saw caused him to drop his phone to the ground. “John,” he said quietly. “Come look.”

“You’re more than welcome to go inside,” the Doctor said.

John came behind him as Sherlock stepped inside. John followed. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

“What is this place?” Sherlock asked as the Doctor, Rory and Amelia followed John inside.

“My home.” The Doctor came over to him. “Do you believe me now?”

“No. No, this can’t be possible,” Sherlock said.

“Call your mother,” the Doctor said. “She can confirm all of this.”

Sherlock looked at the man, then Rory and Amelia. Amelia held out Sherlock’s phone to him, and with shaking hands he took it. He hung up on Lestrade without putting the phone to his ear, then went through his contacts to his mother’s number. He dialed her, then waited for her to pick up. Before she could say hello he spoke. “Who is my father?”

“He found you,” his mother said quietly, relief in her voice. “Your father went by John Smith when I met him, but soon he told me the truth. Your father is the Doctor, Sherlock.”

“So it’s true,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Yes, it’s true. Listen to what he has to say, Sherlock. He is a good man.”

“How could a good man abandon me?” Sherlock said, looking at the Doctor, who flinched.

“He didn’t abandon you. I pushed him away and I didn’t tell him about you until today. This is all my doing, Sherlock, and I am so sorry. I am so very sorry.”

Sherlock was quiet. His mind was whirring with the implications of all of this, his thoughts going a million miles an hour. He wanted to rant and rave but he couldn’t. He could dimly hear his mother calling his name on the other end of the phone, and he pulled the phone away and for the first time in his life hung up on her. “You are my father,” he said to the Doctor, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Doctor nodded. “Yes.”

“I need to think,” he said, going back to the doors. “I need…time. I need to be alone.” He opened the doors and walked out, leaving it all behind him. He knew, somehow, that they would all be there when he got back, but for now he needed time to marshal his thoughts together. The biggest mystery in his life had been solved, and all it did was bring about more questions. He wanted answers, but right now? Right now, he needed peace and quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

He was gone for three hours. John did not call him thankfully, and when he returned to his home he saw the police box was still there. He went to the doors and knocked, but there was no answer. After waiting a moment, he went to his own home, and then he could hear voices. John’s he picked up immediately and the woman he was speaking to had a Scottish accent so that had to be Amelia Pond. He had been right to assume they would be waiting when he returned. He made his way to where they were, and saw John sitting in his chair and the others nearby. His eyes zeroed in on his father. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around that.

John spotted him first. “Welcome back,” he said. “We contacted Lestrade and Amy and Rory went to Scotland Yard to prove they were alive. We just got back.”

“Good,” he replied, going into the kitchen. John had made tea, and he poured himself a cup. He would have liked something stronger, but he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since he was put in rehab and he didn’t want to slide back into old habits.

“Amy and I were going to go see the damage from the break-in,” Rory said. “John’s offered to accompany us.”

“Very well,” the Doctor said with a slight grin. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”

“See you later,” Amy said with a grin of her own. “Nice meeting you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded to them, and the three of them left, leaving him alone with the Doctor. He sat down in the chair he usually sat in. “There is so much I want to know,” he said quietly before taking a sip of his tea. “So many questions I have. But I suppose first is how is it possible?”

“There had been rumors that Time Lords could impregnate certain species. Humans were supposed to be one of them,” the Doctor said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow slightly. “I’m from the planet Gallifrey. My race is known as Time Lords.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said.

“Supposedly the children would resemble the mother’s race in most aspects. They wouldn’t have two hearts, for one, and they wouldn’t have the ability to see all of time and space when they looked at things. But they would be stronger, hardier.” The Doctor took a sip of his drink. “John said you jumped off the roof of a hospital a few years back.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied.

“That should have killed you, but you seem to be unharmed and have no lingering aftereffects. Did you ever wonder why?”

“I did,” he said.

“It’s because you’re part Time Lord. I don’t know if you would regenerate if you were gravely injured, but it’s a possibility.”

“No, it’s not,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “I was shot and nearly died when I faked my death. Nothing strange happened to me.”

“Oh,” the Doctor replied. “Well, it could have gone either way.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” They lapsed into a slightly awkward silence, both of them sipping their tea. Finally Sherlock spoke up again. “Why my mother?”

“She was young and in terrible pain, emotionally,” the Doctor said. “I had just hurt a good friend, and was traveling through time rather aimlessly. She…helped. She helped lessen my pain. I’m afraid I didn’t do the same for her, however.”

“Why did you leave?” he asked.

“She told me she didn’t want to see me again, that my presence only hurt. I had lied to her when I first met her. Lied to her for months. When I revealed the truth, she didn’t want to hear it. I had hurt her all over again, so I left. Had a few other adventures, some worse than others, and then regenerated into how I look now. I met Amelia and the rest is a whole other story.”

“She’s dying,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Yes, I know,” the Doctor replied with a nod. “I’m so sorry. She still seems so young.”

“She is. She was only eighteen when she had Mycroft, twenty-eight when she had me.” Sherlock looked at his drink. “Did you ever meet my brother?”

He shook his head. “No. Your mother didn’t want him to know about me. He knows now, though. He was at her home when I arrived, though he doesn’t know the whole story. Whether you and your mother share it is your decision.”

“Another secret,” he said slightly bitterly. “Just what the family needs.”

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said. “Your mother told me some of what happened to you. I am sorry for everything.”

“You shouldn’t be. You didn’t know.” Sherlock picked up his drink and had some more of it. “I want to be angry at you. I want to be angry at her, too. But I can’t. I can’t, because she pushed you away and you didn’t know about me.”

“Let me learn about you,” the Doctor said. “Tell me about your life, more than what your mother told me.”

“The twice-told tale,” Sherlock murmured. “What you heard from her and what you’ll hear from me.”

“Yes. I want to know.” The Doctor looked at him intently. “It wasn’t until recently that I thought I was all alone in the world. My wife was gone, my children and my granddaughter. When I met Amy I got a new family, but it’s not the same as having another child of my own. I want to get to know you, Sherlock.”

“How are you related to Amelia and Rory Williams?” he asked.

“I married their daughter. Amelia and Rory are my in-laws.”

“How is that possible?” he asked, relieved to change the subject from his own past for the moment.

“If I tell you my life story first, will you promise to tell me yours in return?” the Doctor asked.

Sherlock nodded. “I promise.”

“Very well. I’ll start with the story of how I met River Song, and then I’ll go back from there. But we might need more tea.”

“You start the story and I’ll make the tea,” Sherlock said, getting up.

“Very well. River and I are moving in opposite directions, you see. Her past was my future, and my past was her future.” And from there he launched into his tale, and Sherlock listened. Most of it seemed outlandish, but he had wanted answers, and now he was getting them. He had to remember that that was what was important.


	3. Chapter 3

It took quite a while for the Doctor to tell Sherlock his story. Some parts of it seemed completely unbelievable, but then again, the fact that he was an alien should have hinted to Sherlock that there would be many things about his father’s life that he didn’t quite understand. It was dark by the time he finished, and very late. John, Rory and Amy had not returned, and Sherlock was not sure whether he should contact John. After all, he had not told his father about any of the events in his own life.

“Perhaps it is time to call it a night,” the Doctor said as he finished telling Sherlock about an alien race called the Daleks and a woman named Oswin. “I don’t need to sleep, but I imagine you do, and it’s nearly two in the morning.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. To be truthful he could stand a night without sleep, and he had made a promise. The new Sherlock, the one who was fresh from a faked death and a forced exile, did not break his promises. He found himself shaking his head. “No. I can stay up. But I’d like to tell John it’s all right if he comes home.”

“He’s probably staying with the Ponds as we speak,” the Doctor said with a slight smile. “They seemed to have hit it off, and I suppose they have stories of their own to share, if your friend is willing to listen.”

“Yes, John is a patient listener,” Sherlock said with a nod and a smile of his own. “He is a good friend, a better one than I deserve.”

“Everyone deserves a good friend,” the Doctor said. “If you didn’t have that your life would be rather rubbish.”

“I don’t think I had a very good life before I met John. A certain psychopath pointed out how much he had changed me when he threatened to kill him.”

“I’m sorry for that,” he said.

“It wasn’t entirely because you weren’t there. It was a factor, but not the entire reason,” Sherlock said thoughtfully. “I was always an intelligent child, and as I grew older I grew more isolated. I turned to drugs because I thought they helped me function better, and I turned to alcohol because it made me numb and quieted the whirring thoughts. When I got sent to a local rehab facility about ten years ago I was forced to look at my life and instead of working through my problems I shut them away and essentially became a human robot. John helped me change from that to a more normal person.”

“How long ago did you become a consulting detective?” he asked.

“I actually started as a child, but it wasn’t until I was nineteen that I saw actual cases with the police. I almost lost it because of my drug and alcohol problems, but eight years ago my brother introduced me to Lestrade and my life has been changed since then.”

“How long ago did you meet John?”

“Five years ago. Our friendship had been established for about two years when Moriarty forced me to go into exile to save my friends, and I’ve been gone three years. I only returned a few weeks ago, when Mycroft told me our mother was dying. I don’t think the criminal empire is completely dismantled, but it’s taken apart well enough to keep my friends safe.”

The Doctor looked at his empty cup of tea. “I have a confession to make. As soon as your mother told me about you I did some research. I know some points of your history, mostly just the last few years. My wife filled in a bit more of the three years you were missing. She’s a fan.”

“Glad to know my stepmother likes me,” Sherlock murmured, still slightly surprised by his family tree. He had found out he had a father and grandparent-in-laws who were actually younger than him and a stepmother who was older. It was still a lot to take in.

“She wanted to be here today, but I figured that was an introduction that could wait a bit. If you want to meet her at all, of course.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “I believe I would like to meet River Song one day.”

“Excellent!” the Doctor said with a wide grin. “She’ll be excited.” He got up and went to the kitchen, beginning to make another pot of tea. So far they had been through ten of them that evening, and two meals that Sherlock had ordered in, and now Sherlock could see that they would go through a few more before the night was done. He himself was starting to get hungry again, so he took his cup and made his way into the kitchen. “So tell me about your childhood.”

“All right.” Sherlock began to rummage for food as he told the Doctor about the loneliness, the cruel teasing from his classmates, the difficult relationship he had with his brother…Sherlock told it all, and while he could see it was hard for his father to take in he did not stop until he had gotten past that into the times he rarely talked about, the time when he was using drugs as a crutch. He didn’t go into as much detail about the dark times, and when it got to the point where he talked about rehab and his life after he could see the Doctor visibly relax.

The sun was coming out when Sherlock stopped, having recounted all of his life up until he met John. He was starting to get a bit tired, and even though he knew he would only sleep for four hours at most his body was beginning to crave the rest. He yawned, for the third time in a half hour span, and the Doctor smiled slightly. “Now I believe we should call it a night. Or a day, rather.”

“I didn’t think I would get so tired,” Sherlock admitted.

“It’s all right. It happens.” He stood up, as did Sherlock, and they looked at each other. “I would like to spend more time with you, Sherlock. Really get to know you as you are now. I can’t apologize enough for not being here until now, but I hope that we can form some sort of relationship now and build upon it.”

Sherlock nodded. To tell the truth, the hole that had been in him had been filled with the revelation of the solution to his unsolvable mystery. “I would like that.”

“Excellent. I believe it’s time for Amelia and Rory to not travel with me for a bit, so perhaps you could talk to them sometimes, when I’m not around. After all, they are family to you now.”

“It might be strange,” he replied.

“Yes, but it might also be good. They’re good people, Sherlock.” He extended his hand, and Sherlock shook it. “Next time I’ll break River out and bring her along. I think you’ll like her as well.”

“Will you be visiting my mother again?” Sherlock asked as they let each other’s hands go.

The Doctor nodded slowly. “If she wants to see me, at any rate. If she doesn’t I will leave her alone. It’s her decision.”

“I think she’ll want to see you,” Sherlock replied.

“I hope she does. I cared for her greatly.” The Doctor gave him a wide smile. “I will see you later, Sherlock.”

“I can see you out,” Sherlock said, and he punctuated it with another yawn.

“No, you go get some sleep. I can see myself out.” He made his way to the door and then paused. “I’m glad you trusted me. And…I’m very proud to call you my son.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said.

“I’ll be off now. I’ll contact you before I drop in,” he said, and with a wave he was gone. 

Sherlock started to clean up after them but after a moment the tiredness overtook and he made his way to his room, not bothering to change out of his clothes before his body hit his bed and he was out. He slept a little longer than he had expected, and five hours later he got out of bed, changed into fresh clothes, and went back to the common room. John was at the table, drinking a cup of tea. “I’m surprised he’s not still here,” John said.

“We stayed up all night talking, but soon I was tired and he left,” Sherlock said, going to get himself a cup.

“Is he coming back?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. He’ll be bringing my stepmother next time, if he can break her out of prison.”

John grinned slightly. “Yeah, Amy and Rory told me all sorts of stories about their daughter. Looks like you got yourself an interesting extended family out of all this. And Amy and Rory are good people.”

“It’s strange, but I suppose I’ll get used to it,” Sherlock said as he made his way to the table.

“You will. I got their telephone numbers, if you want them. I think you’d like the both of them.”

“I hope so.” Sherlock took a sip of his tea. “I feel…better. More free, in a way. Now that I know who my father is and that he didn’t abandon me, I believe I can lay some old demons to rest.”

“That’s good.” John picked up his paper again. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“That’s a very good question,” Sherlock said with a slight smile. “Let’s make some plans, shall we?” And as they launched into a discussion of what to do for the day, Sherlock realized his life had taken a definite turn, and he hoped that it was a good one. But at least he had friends and newfound family to see him through.


End file.
